I met him in the winter just before Christmas, my coworker named Alva Turstell, yet I only truly began to learn who he was - what journeys his life afforded him, just before I left in the late summer for college.
He was 68 and quiet and kept to himself mostly, occasionally remarking to customers and associates whenever a question was asked his way. He was slow to action; his stroke and a battle with skin cancer, along with his time through life's journey left him more measured and tired in step. While he wasn't the most outgoing of my coworkers in the store, his attention to detail was his skill; whether it was stocking the medicines or putting new arrivals of candy on the shelves or even taking basic inventory of the sodas. Yet, while his retail cashiering skills are commendable in their own right, it was the small details of his life that he would mention in passing that drew me in, in those last two weeks of working with him.
Hearing quips and short tales of living in Heidelberg and China for many years at a time, of attending both Georgia Tech as well as Duke, of traveling through Italy for weeks on end - I began to believe that after the many years of his life, the autumnal years began to breathe truth into fisherman's tales within his mind.
While stocking energy drinks, his tired demeanor would disappear, his eyes brighten, and his stories of college life at Georgia Tech or at Duke would unfold, occasionally his mind switching the colleges without his lips knowing. From art history and art criticism lectures, to studying mathematics and mechanics - course after course, his memories allowed him to relive his past.
But even when things were going well for him, working in retail did throw unfortunate occurrences - unapologetic, impatient customers who demanded instant gratification from a man who's speed was not set to the notch eleven. The only thing worse than the intolerant customers, were the intolerant customers vocalizing their rather crude remarks - however not directly to him, instead to other cashiers where he was in earshot. He never retorted in any fashion, never shot back - instead he continued on, acting as if nothing was said. But oh, when the face remains calm and stone-like, how the eyes betray the soul within - the pain and anger visible, only to be drowned within sadness and the feeling of being used to such comments.
He wasn't as fast as us young summer-hire cashiers, wasn't as sprightly or as flexible as us, but he was more mature and calm than us; not only in action, but also in speech - for when he was silent in the fray of busied conversations and ringing up customers, his mind ran laps around us all; catching minute details whilst we young bucks tried to appease every customer who walked in the store.
That summer I met a man who has lived more than I have, who has seen more, and done more, and loved more than I have. He has seen oppression and joy in everyday moments, has seen love and warmth, and hate and despair. His movements were slowed down compared to us, but his mind was miles ahead of us. He was quiet and docile but his memories exuded noise and life. That was the summer I truly learned what a well lived and traveled human soul looked like - and I've yet to encounter another one.
